


Visitations

by shadowsamurai



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 04:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/451366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd has a series of visitations at Christmas to help him see the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

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"GRACE!"

Grace winced and took a calming deep breath. Two days before Christmas and all she wanted to do was leave work early, finish up her shopping and then go home to relax for a few days. No such luck. The Commissioner had thrown a case at them the week before, citing a quick result was of paramount importance.

*'When wasn't it?'* Grace thought grimly as she pushed herself to her feet to answer Boyd's summons. The man himself had been even more insufferable than normal, pushing everyone longer and harder than ever, and they still weren't making headway with the case, which, of course, made him worse.

*"GRACE!"*

"I'm right here, Boyd!" she replied irritably, her voice climbing a couple of octaves with frustration. "There's no need to deafen me."

"I did wonder if you had heard me," he said scathingly. "How long does it take to get from your office to mine?"

"Did you want something?" Grace asked, refusing to be drawn into an argument.

"The profile on Bellamy..."

"The answer is the same as it was half an hour, Boyd," Grace told him in exasperation. "I'm working on it."

"How long can it take, Grace?" Boyd asked impatiently. "You've got all your notes there, meetings with the man himself, all the information from the original case. What more do you want?"

Grace glared at him. "A little peace and quiet so I can finish my evaluation!"

"If you can't work under pressure, Grace, maybe should should get out of the kitchen!" Boyd yelled, turning on his heel. "Stella! Have you traced the car Bellamy said was stolen from him?"

Stella looked petrified. "Not yet, sir."

Boyd stared at her incredulously. "You've had three days!" he said, emphasising each word carefully. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing, sir," she replied.

"Then get it sorted!"

Eve came through the double doors with her head down, reading from a sheet of paper, oblivious to the growing tension in the room. "Spence, what do you think about...?"

"Is it something to do with the case?" Boyd asked icily.

Eve looked up, surprised. "No, I..."

"If it has no relevance to the case in hand, Dr Lockhart, I don't want to hear it."

"Boyd, it was only a quick question about a present," Eve protested.

"Maybe if you put as much effort into working as you did into thinking up Christmas presents, we would be further on with this case!" Boyd said, the volume of his voice slowly climbing.

Everyone froze with shock, but Spencer was the first to recover, launching to his feet, an angry expression etched onto his face. "Now wait a minute, Boyd..."

"Have you chased up those witnesses I asked you to?" Boyd countered before the DI could finish what he was saying.

"Sir, it's Christmas time!" Spencer said in disbelief.

"I don't care if the Queen just died, we need some answers! Come on, people, show me you deserve to get paid!"

"That's enough, Boyd," Grace said suddenly. "We're working as hard as we can."

Boyd looked at her disbelievingly. "Really. So why are we no further on than we were last week? I thought you were all supposed to be good."

"And what have you been doing, Boyd?" Eve asked, anger colouring her voice. "Other than sitting on your arse in your office, lording it over the rest of us."

"It's my job to review the facts, delegate jobs, and deal with the paperwork," he replied coldly, his eyes boring into the pathologist's. "And I don't have to answer to you."

"I think you do, sir," Spencer said, his voice strained by fury. "You should answer to all of us, just like we have to answer to you."

Boyd stretched up to his full height, using the extra inch difference between himself and Spencer to tower over the DI, in height as well as sheer presence. "If you're ever in charge of a unit, *Detective Inspector* Jordan, you will understand that I only answer to those higher in the chain of command."

"What about your equals?" Grace asked challengingly.

"I have no equal."

"Why don't we just concentrate on the case?" Stella suggested in the hopes to diffuse the situation.

Boyd rounded on her. "Why did you stop in the first place?"

"Because you're all arguing and it's difficult to concentrate with so much noise!" she shouted back. "Sir."

"This is a mere discussion," Boyd told her.

"No, it's an argument," Spencer insisted. "It's an argument because you're flogging us into working two days before Christmas! It's not right, we need a break, sir."

"You need a break?" Boyd asked.

Eve nodded firmly before Spencer could reply. "Yes, Boyd, we do."

"You can have a break when this case is completed. And don't think you'll be taking Christmas Day off either!" he roared.

Grace's expression became pained. "Boyd, please!"

"No, Grace. I'm in charge here, that means you all do as *I* say, not what you please. And I say I want to see double the effort from all of you and answers before the new year or none of you are going to leave this office until we get a lead!"

"Then maybe you should go, *sir*, and leave us all to do our job," Spencer suggested coldly.

Boyd glared at him. "I will decide when I leave."

"I agree with Spence," Eve said.

"I don't care!" Boyd replied.

"Boyd!" Grace shouted, her voice strained by stress. "Just go!"

He stared at her for a long moment, reading the expression on her face and the pain in her eyes without actually seeing it all, before looking at the other members of the team. "Fine," he said eventually, his voice flat and emotionless. Without another word, he stormed into his office, grabbed his coat, and strode out of the other door.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

His shoes and coat discarded by the front door, his suit jacket and tie lay where he had thrown them in the hallway, and the man who owned the clothes was sitting on the couch in his dark living room, a bottle of whisky held in one hand, a glass in the other. None of them understood the stress he was under. It was part of their job to produce quick results, yet they were whining like children. Those thoughts and more flitted through Boyd's mind as he drank himself into oblivion. Christmas. What was so great about Christmas? It was a time to spend with family, friends and other loved ones. The team didn't have any of that, all of them alone, so why shouldn't they spend it working? Boyd couldn't see a problem with it at all. Just like he couldn't see how the situation had escalated into that argument, the one that had ended with him being thrown out of his own unit. How could they all gang up on him like that? It just wasn't fair.

Boyd poured himself another drink, raised the glass to his lips, and then looked at it, frowning. It was empty. How the hell had that happened? Was the universe unhappy with him? Was there a hole in his glass? Looking at the empty bottle, Boyd decided there must have been a hole in that instead and he lurched unsteadily to his feet to go in search of another.

An hour later and Boyd lay slumped on the couch, the half empty bottle of whisky held loosely in his grip. He barely heard his house phone rang, never registered his mobile going. All he knew was that there was a pleasant buzz in his head which counteracted the unpleasantness of the room spinning, and the numbness that had spread throughout his entire body. The last thing Boyd remembered was hearing a dull thump, though whether it was his head hitting the arm of the couch, the bottle hitting the floor, or someone knocking on his front door, he didn't know, and he didn't care. All he wanted to do was sleep.

TBC


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

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As Boyd felt himself becoming conscious, he prepared himself for the pounding fog that was bound to be occupying his head and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the light would hurt his eyes, he wouldn't be able to stand the smell of himself, and he would wonder why he had taken so much trouble to become inebriated in the first place. But his head felt remarkably clear and tentatively, Boyd opened his eyes. No stabbing pains, no squinting, and no nausea. There was, however, a powerful sense of vertigo when he tried to sit up and he ended up toppling off his couch, his arms wind-milling in a vain attempt to keep his balance.

Boyd grunted as he hit the floor, but soon sat bolt upright. Something was seriously wrong. He had no hangover; by all rights, he should have been at least a little bit worse for wear after a bottle and a half of whisky. He wasn't aching; after a night on his couch, he should have been half-paralysed. And his floor was far too soft to actually be his floor. In fact, looking around at his surroundings properly, Boyd saw he wasn't even in his living room any more. The only thing that looked familiar was his couch. In fact, it was the only thing around.

If he was asked, the only answer Boyd could give as to where he was would be inside a cloud. The floor was soft and white, and he seemed to be stood in a dense milky fog, which was neither cold nor damp.

"I must be dreaming," he muttered to himself.

"No, you're not. Well, not exactly."

Boyd froze, that voice bringing back so many painful memories, so many hidden emotions. "I am dreaming," he said firmly, though his voice wavered treacherously.

"You're not dreaming. It's difficult to explain."

"I don't care. It's not real."

"It is. Boyd, turn around."

He felt a slender hand on his arm, felt the gentle steel tug, and reluctantly he turned. "This cannot be real."

Mel smiled at him. "Your mind makes it real."

"Where is 'here'?" Boyd asked.

"Nowhere." Mel smiled again. "It's difficult to explain," she repeated, "So why don't you just accept it? It'll make things a lot easier for both of us."

"And how is this going to be difficult for you?" Boyd inquired scathingly.

Mel regarded him silently for a moment, then gestured to thin air on her right. Slowly, the fog shifted and moved, and soon Boyd saw himself and Mel there, like a miniature reflection. The last couple of minutes replayed themselves and he saw how he had sounded, and how his tone affected Mel.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, and it sounded lame, even to his own ears.

"Of course you did," Mel replied promptly. "It's the way you are, Boyd. You're unhappy so you lash out at everyone else."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is. You didn't want to be alone at Christmas so you made the rest of the team work." She shook her head. "You know you'd have gotten a better response if you had just asked them. They would have said yes, you know."

Boyd didn't look convinced. "And how do you know that?"

"They care about you, despite the fact you're a grouchy bastard most of the time."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know." Mel sighed. "You don't understand, do you? Or is it that you don't want to understand?"

"Tell me what it is I'm supposed to be understanding and I'll tell you whether I do or not," Boyd replied. "Or don't want to, as the case may be."

Mel shook her head again, but a small smile played on her lips. "Your actions affect everyone around you, Boyd. You make the office an almost impossible environment to live in."

"Spare me the lecture," he interrupted. "I've heard all this from Grace before."

"Yes, but you didn't listen." She gestured again to thin air. "Watch, Boyd. Watch and listen properly."

Rolling his eyes, Boyd turned his head to look at the milky fog. At first, nothing happened, but then shapes emerged, growing into people, and he saw it was the team, starting from the first case that made their name in the police world. He didn't see anything wrong with his behaviour, only registered pride at the way his team worked so well, but then he noticed him and Grace arguing...no, *disagreeing* over something, saw the way she flinched when he raised his voice. The picture suddenly zoomed in on Grace's face and Boyd could see the pain clearly in her eyes. He frowned, wondering how he could have hurt her so much.

"Let's watch it again," Mel said, obviously knowing what he was thinking.

This time, even Boyd winced at his own tone, and he looked carefully at his younger self. There was frustration there, but still a modicum of understanding. Looking at the scene again, he realised that he was like a child, shouting the loudest so he could win, and that understanding made him feel ashamed of the way he was.

"It gets worse," Mel told him.

Boyd sighed. "Somehow I thought it might."

For an indefinite amount of time, Boyd watched different scenes from the past six years play out in front of him. Sometimes it was only a small incident, other times a huge argument, between himself and various members of the team overs the years. He saw Felix leaving because of his apparent coldness, he saw how frightened Stella seemed to be of him, he saw how Spencer's anger mirrored his own, and it saddened him. But the worse one affected was Grace. Boyd saw every emotion play over her face, saw how she grew proficient at hiding her feelings as the years rolled by. He saw how he constantly pushed her away, more than anyone.

"Why?" he murmured to himself.

"Why do you push her away or why does she stay?" Mel asked quietly. "Not that it matters."

"And why is that?"

"The answer is the same."

"Don't tell me, we both care," Boyd said, his voice laced with sarcasm, but even as he spoke, he realised how pathetic his words sounded, even to his own ears. He knew what he had just said was true, even though he wished it wasn't, even had himself convinced it wasn't.

"You can't punish yourself forever, Boyd," Mel told him quietly. "Whatever you think you've done to deserve such treatment from yourself, whatever...wrongs you think you've committed, you shouldn't take it out on everyone else. Don't make everyone else around you miserable just because you can't stand your own company."

He swallowed several times, wanting to retort angrily, to shout and gesture, but he couldn't. "Is there anything else?" he asked eventually, the words ground out from between clenched teeth.

Wordlessly, Mel looked at the floating scene and with a heavy heart, Boyd followed her gaze, wondering just what he would see. When the lab appeared, with Frankie occupying it, somehow he wasn't surprised. Somehow, he knew exactly what was about to follow.

Frankie walked around woodenly, and Boyd knew it had nothing to do with Mel's little trick. The pathologist was acting that way because one of her best friends had just died; the woman who was now stood beside Boyd. Frankie did a little something here, then a little something there, but her heart wasn't in anything, that much was clear in her expression. Then suddenly, without warning, she sunk to the floor, her face in her hands, tears running down her palms and her arms. Boyd made an involuntary, unconscious gesture as he reached for her, wanting to comfort her. But he knew he couldn't and he let his arm drop to his side.

Then again, suddenly, without warning, Frankie stood, picked something off the table and hurled it at the wall. "Bastard!" she shouted, trembling with anger, and Boyd winced, knowing he was the one being cursed. "She says that you care, but you don't! I get told I should give you another chance, time and again, and like a fool, I do. Why? We're all making the effort, Boyd, and what are you doing? Pissing us all off for the fun of it! Is that how you get your kicks?" She shook her head, the shaking subsiding somewhat. "Well not any more. Not from me, not with me." Frankie took a long look around the lab, and as she turned, Boyd could see her expression clearly, her eyes flooded with pain. "I'm out of here."

Boyd sank slowly to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Lifting a shaking hand, he wiped them away roughly. "What have you done to me?" he asked Mel.

"I haven't made you come undone, if that's what you're suggesting," she replied. "You have these emotions within you, Boyd, but you allow your anger and frustration to rule, which suppresses your softer side. And you do have one, everyone does, to a greater or lesser degree. Yours is lesser, but it's balanced by Grace. You know it's true. It's not a bad thing, just the way you are. But you've got to let go of the anger and the frustration. I'm not saying become a completely different person, just a...better one."

"What have you done to me?" he asked, softer this time.

"Separated you from your anger, so you can see properly."

Boyd stared at the scene before him, watching Frankie walk out of the unit for good, and pain lanced his chest. Slowly, he looked at Mel. "Can you forgive me, Mel? For the way I treated you at times, for not being there when you needed me...for everything. Can you forgive me?"

There was a long silence, which Boyd found deafening and he wanted to demand an answer, but he endured the wait, though it felt as though it was killing him. Finally, Mel sighed softly and bent her head.

"No," she whispered.

"You can't or you won't?" Boyd asked, no trace of anger in his voice, which surprised him.

Mel knelt beside him and put her hand gently against his bearded cheek. "I'm a ghost, Boyd, I can't forgive you. The only ones who can, and who might, are the ones who are still here, the ones you've been pushing away."

"But if you were alive," he said as she stood and turned, "If you were able to, would you forgive me?"

His answer was silence.

TBC


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Future

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For a while, Boyd stared at the empty space Mel had occupied not moments before, his heart heavy with sorrow. He wanted to shout out to her, to anyone, but his voice had abandoned him. Hanging his head, Boyd turned. A sudden wave of dizziness hit him and he fell backwards, glad his couch was in the bizarre environment to break his fall. Screwing his eyes shut, he took several deep lungfuls of air and waited for the room to stop spinning. This was something he was more familiar, and comfortable, with: the beginnings of his hangover. And when things finally settled down and he opened his eyes, Boyd saw he was back in his own living room, which confirmed to him that things were back to normal. Lifting his fingers slowly to his face, Boyd was only slightly surprised to find his cheeks were wet. As dreams go, the one he had just endured must have been quite strong to make him cry in his sleep.

"You weren't asleep."

Swearing, Boyd jumped to his feet and spun round, the motion making him lose his balance and fall back onto the couch. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded to know.

Stella just regarded him quite calmly. "Helping you."

"I don't need help. Get out!"

"Didn't you listen to anything Mel just told you?" Stella asked. "This isn't a dream. Well, not exactly."

Boyd stared at her, his expression something akin to horror. "It *was* a dream. I'm home now."

"Are you?"

Looking around slowly, Boyd tried to find something amiss with his living room, but couldn't. Well, apart from the fact that the curtains were open and the sun was blazing high in the sky...the moon right next to it, and a few stars clear for everyone to see. Groaning, Boyd buried his head in his hands.

"Why me?" he muttered.

"Because we think you're worth saving."

He looked up curiously. "We?"

Stella ignored him. "You can sit there and ignore me as long as you like. Time has no meaning here and I have all the patience in the world."

"Do you?" Boyd asked, amused. "Because the Stella I know doesn't."

Stella smiled back at him. "Alright, I don't, but I thought if I could convince you I did, you might give in easier."

"There was logic in there somewhere, but don't ask me where." He held his hands up. "Alright, I give in. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"Winning that wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be," she grumbled. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Stella, I don't even know why *I'm* here," Boyd replied.

"Mel showed you the past, I'm going to show you the future."

"It hasn't been written yet."

"Some things are certain, Boyd," Stella told him seriously. "Those are the things I will show you."

He sighed. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Probably not."

His living room window started to blur and swirl, and before long, the entire wall has disintegrated, showing an unknown scene. Boyd and Grace were sat in his office, discussing a necklace that was somehow connected with Mel. Before he could register what was happened, the two people in the scene started arguing, their words becoming more heated and barbed with each passing second and he before he knew it, Grace stood and left.

"Where is she going?" Boyd asked, shocked, staring at himself in the image as though he was looking at a stranger.

"She's leaving," Stella replied sadly.

Boyd turned to look at her. "But she'll be back." Silence. "Won't she?"

Stella hesitated. "Yes, but not until the end of the case, and Grace only returns because she cares about helping people."

"How long is she gone for?" Boyd asked, and his tone indicated the question was important to him.

But Stella didn't answer him. "It doesn't matter. This is what matters." She gestured and the scene changed through several images: Boyd in Grace's office; Boyd picking the phone up and not making the care; Boyd looking lost. "You need her, more than you realise."

He stared at his forlorn self. "I do realise it. I know it. It's just...I don't know. It's just me."

"You can't be 'just you' any more, Boyd," Stella said, gesturing again.

Joe's haggard face appeared and Boyd gave a strangled cry. He was forced to watch as his son injected himself with drugs, pushing him closer and closer to the edge until finally, he took too much. He watched as Joe's head lolled lifelessly to one side, the mobile slipping from his dead fingers.

"No!" Boyd cried, reaching out to his son.

"You can't help him."

"You said this was the future, that the things you were showing me couldn't be changed," Boyd said, hurt and anger colouring his voice.

"There's more," Stella replied softly.

She showed him three successive scenes: Spencer leaving the team, taking a transfer as soon as one came up; herself dying, which Boyd found particularly difficult to watch; and then Grace suffering with cancer. Boyd's heart leapt to his throat when he saw his friend lying in a hospital bed and he wondered how things could get any worse. When he saw some unknown woman holding a needle to Grace's arm, telling the Boyd in the scene to kill someone or Grace would die, Boyd realised he hadn't known what 'worse' meant until then.

"No more," he gasped, staggering backwards until he felt his couch behind him and he sank onto it gratefully.

"You have to understand something, Boyd," Stella said, sitting beside him. "These things are certain, but only if you continue the way you are now. You can stop all these things from happening if you change."

"I can't stop Grace getting cancer," he replied.

"No, but you can stop her from possibly dying at the hands of a madwoman," Stella told him. "You can support her through her illness, ensuring that she *will* get better. You can stop Spencer leaving, even stop me from dying."

"And Joe?" The question was spoken quietly, as though he didn't really want to voice it.

Stella was silent for a long time. "That is the one thing that cannot be changed. I'm sorry. Even if you had been the best dad in the world, Joe would still have ended up the same way. That's his path, his destiny, if you want to call it something. He's had his last chance to turn away, to change, but he passed it up."

"Why?" he asked after a while. "Why should I change?"

"Because of this." Stella gestured again at the space where the wall had been.

Boyd couldn't help but smile as he looked at the image before him. Every person who had been a member of the cold case squad in the last six years were gathered around him, with Grace and Spencer flanking him, the scene looking more like a promotional picture for a TV show than anything else. Either that or a rogues' gallery. Boyd couldn't decide.

But then Mel disappeared. He was expecting that, but it still pained him. Frankie vanished soon after, and then Andy and Felix. Stella disappeared quickly, as did Spencer, and soon, there was only Boyd and Grace left.

"Don't go," he whispered, reaching for her. "Don't let her go." This was directed to his mirror image starting sightlessly back at him.

But it happened. Slowly, ever so slowly, Grace began to fade, until she was nothing more than a memory, and Boyd was alone.

"You may have been alone for a long time," Stella said, "But you don't need to carry on being alone. All these people, they care about you. It's time to change, Boyd."

"I don't know how," he replied, turning to face her, only to find she had vanished as well.

"If you want it badly enough," her disembodied voice replied, "You'll find a way. No one else can do it for you, no one else can help any more than they already are doing."

"And how are they helping?" Body couldn't help but ask.

"By loving you," she told him. "Just don't wait too long to start to change."

Boyd looked up, expecting to see himself staring back, but instead there was nothing. He was truly alone.

TBC


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Present

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This time when the wave of nausea hit him, Boyd knew what to expect. By know he knew what was going on, at least at that very moment, while he was sleeping or unconscious. As for the bigger picture, he was still clueless, though he hoped when he awoke properly he wouldn't be quite as blind. But knowing exactly what he was like, he didn't hope too hard. Closing his eyes, Boyd waited for the world to stop spinning and the sickness to pass, idly wondering who would be his last 'ghost', the one to show him the present, which would inevitably be the argument he had orchestrated and endured with the team earlier the day before. Mel had been his past, Stella his future, but who for his present? A slight smile touched his face. Grace. It could only be her, the only he would, if he were honest with himself, trust such a task to.

Some sixth sense he didn't even know he possessed told Boyd he wasn't in his own home any more, nor had he returned to lollipop land. He was, in fact, if his instincts were serving him rightly, in the offices, or more specifically, *his* office.

"I thought you'd feel more comfortable here."

Boyd's eyes flew open, fixing on the person next to him. He stared for a moment, then grunted. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

"But I'm not who you were expecting," Eve replied.

He smiled at her. "You know you're not."

"Indeed I do." She smiled back.

"So, why here?"

"What do you mean?"

"First time was in the clouds, second in my home...."

Eve held her hands up. "I don't want to know, Boyd!"

"What are you talking about? I was talking about...." He trailed off and his eyes narrowed. "I was *not* talking about sex!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Please, don't use such language in front of us children," Eve replied.

"Wha-?" Boyd stopped abruptly when he saw her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Daddy will spank your arse if you carry on."

Eve threw her head back and laughed loudly. "Now why can't you be like that all the time, Boyd?" she asked him.

"It's not possible."

"Grace seems to manage it. Most of the time," she added quickly.

"People except me to be a hard case, they expect me to be short-tempered and cranky."

In the silence that followed, Boyd wondered what on earth had made him say that. It was the truth, certainly, but one of those truths that was never meant to be shared. Luckily Eve seemed to sense his unease and turned away.

"We're here, at work, specifically in your office, because that's where your mind is fixed," she explained. "Your almost every thought centres on work, on being here and working, which is fine, but you need to think about the team as well. They're an integral, irreplaceable part of this place. Yes, new members will replace old ones, but the team as a whole...it's a unit that needs to be preserved, Boyd."

"Is this where you give me a speech about my role in the team?" he asked, surprised there was no sarcasm or anger in his voice, only a simple question. "About how I'm the father and need to look after everyone?"

"No, because you already know it. You just need to practice it a bit more."

"It's not that easy."

"Because you make it difficult," Eve replied promptly. "Look, I'll show you."

"Do you have to?" Boyd grumbled, his tone that of a petulant child.

Eve ignored him, stood, and gestured to the wall that had been behind them. Boyd noted, incidentally, that Grace's office looked odd in the dark, and he remembered what Stella had showed him in the future, where Grace left. He knew she came back, but it was the actual leaving that was causing him trouble.

"Watch," the pathologist instructed him.

Sighing, Boyd did as he was told, already knowing he wouldn't like what he saw. He saw the beginning of the day before, the phone ringing before he had even made it into his office. It was the Commissioner, demanding an update, despite them only having been at the case for a week. Boyd told him they were expecting a lead from forensics later that day, and that Grace would also have a profile for them to work with by the afternoon. The Commissioner told Boyd to make it sooner. Irritated by the phone call, Boyd started to rile the members of the team as soon as they walked through the door, shouting orders louder than necessary, with more force than was necessary.

As Boyd watched himself being so hard on the team, he winced. He had acted stupidly, thoughtlessly, all because the Commissioner was pushing him. If he couldn't handle the pressure, he shouldn't be in charge. That thought shocked him, and he wondered where it had come from.

"It wasn't me," Eve said, holding her hands up. "It came from within you. I had nothing to do with that little revelation."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Thanks," he murmured and went back to watching the scene.

The morning of the previous day progressed through snippets and moments, and he knew they were building up to the argument that made him leave. As he watched, though, he realised he wasn't the only one at fault. The behaviour of the team didn't help much, as they seemed to act up more just to annoy him. Spencer became more and more frustrated and angry with Boyd for pushing them so hard, Stella pretended to work hard but wasn't actually doing, and Eve wasn't pretending to work at all. In fact, only Grace seemed to be concentrating.

"We're not perfect," Eve agreed, and Boyd thought he detected a hint of an apology in her voice. "But you have to lead by example."

Boyd sighed. "I know."

Then in the afternoon came the second phone call from the Commissioner, this one making the earlier one pleasant by comparison. The Boyd in the image clenched his fist so hard during the conversation that he left deep nail imprints on the palm of his hand. The basic of the message was that they had to have a lead in the next two days or they would all find themselves unemployed. Boyd actually pointed out it was Christmas, but the Commissioner wasn't having any of it. Of course, Boyd didn't fight the case too hard; at least if he was working he wouldn't be alone. As soon as the call ended, he didn't even wait to calm down, he just shouted for Grace so that he could unburden his anger on someone else.

Boyd saw himself doing all of this and now understood what he was doing. He couldn't cope with stress, or with anger. He needed to pass it all onto someone else, or vent it in some way, and that was usually yelling at the team. Unfortunately, it seemed they had all had enough of him. As he watched, he could see that he was justified in his accusations, but not in the manner they were delivered. Grace had indeed had more than enough time to finish the profile on Bellamy, she just hadn't done so because he had done nothing but shout at them every five minutes for the entire morning. Stella hadn't traced the car because Spencer hadn't been helping her; he had been busy building the chip on his shoulder. Same with the witnesses he was supposed to be chasing; he was too busy being indignant at Boyd to actually work. And Eve couldn't get very far until they had traced the stolen car, but Boyd noticed at there was work to be done.

He turned to Eve next to him and frowned. "Am I seeing this as it really is, from an outsider's point of view, or just as I want to see things?"

She smiled at him mysteriously. "I think we're making progress, and I definitely think there's hope for you. Watch it again."

This time he saw the first phone call with the Commissioner, going exactly as it had before, but Boyd noticed something before that in himself. He was already cranky; pissed off, in fact. And he knew why. He had heard talk between the rest of the team about Christmas, what they were doing and the presents they were buying, but no one had talked to him about it. He had been completely excluded from the discussions and it irked him. Then the call from the Commissioner came and his bad mood worsened. They couldn't get any further with the case without any new leads, and they weren't finding many of those. The car that was supposed to be stolen still hadn't been found, despite Stella searching for three days. The witnesses that Spencer was supposed to be finding were equally elusive, and it wasn't for lack of trying on the DI's part, Boyd could see that now. Eve had next to nothing to go on, except a single fingerprint that wasn't Bellamy's and didn't match any on the database. And Grace, despite having the information from the original case and her own notes to consult, as well as the knowledge gleaned from meeting Bellamy, still couldn't put together a cohesive profile because nothing fit. It was like he was three different people, and Boyd could now see that it was driving the profiler crazy.

Then Boyd saw himself, angry at the time of year, pissed off at the Commissioner, taking his frustrations out on everyone else because he simply didn't know how to cope. He should have fought harder for time off over Christmas, citing the team would work better after even just one day of rest. He should have stuck up for his team instead of shouting at them. He didn't let them stop for lunch, instead allowing a ten minute run to the vending machine. Then came the Commissioner's second phone call, which was actually apologetic, and he told Boyd to slow down and take a few days off over Christmas. Boyd said it wouldn't be necessary, that the team were keen to crack the case. It was a lie, he knew, but at least he wouldn't be alone. Of course, it hadn't worked out that way. As he watched the argument unfold, Boyd wanted to reach into the scene and punch himself, especially when he told them they had to work on Christmas Day. He could see it in their faces, their expressions clear; they had never hated him more than they did in that moment, all of them, even Grace, and that knowledge pained him greatly.

And then, in the scene, he left, because they didn't want him there. He was thrown out of his own unit by the other members of the team, and as he watched, Boyd was surprised how easily he gave in to them.

"You wanted to see how much they cared," Eve answered. "You went home and got drunk to see if anyone cared enough to follow you or call."

"And did they?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Let's take a look."

The scene changed again and Boyd was surprised to find himself looking at Grace, sat on the couch in her house. There was no TV on, no music, just the profiler staring into space, a glass of wine in hand. She looked older in the pale light, her wrinkles clearer because of the shadows, but what surprised him the most were her eyes. Normally sparkling blue, they were dull, almost lifeless. Beside her on the couch, Boyd saw the case file, saw she had been working on it, presumably since she got home. Suddenly, she moved, her hand diving into her bag and pulling out her mobile.

"Damn you, Boyd," Grace muttered, and he saw she was ringing his number.

"I'm not going to answer," he said, knowing she couldn't hear him.

When Grace realised the same thing, she threw her phone across the room at the arm chair and swore. "Damn you, Boyd," she repeated, louder this time.

The scene changed again without warning, and Boyd saw Stella all wrapped up, walking down a street furiously. "I know that street," he said in surprise.

"You should, you live on it," Eve replied dryly.

Sure enough, Stella walked up to Boyd's front door, raised her hand to knock, then changed her mind and walked away. Then walked back. Then walked away again. Amused, Boyd watched her do this for about ten minutes before she finally took a deep breath.

"You can do this, just see if he's alright," the DC muttered to herself. "What's the worst he can do? Fire you? Exactly." She turned and marched up the path and knocked on the door before she could change her mind again. But there was no answer. She knocked twice more, then realising she wasn't getting anyway, walked slowly away, shoulders slumped in...disappointment? Boyd wasn't sure.

A third time the scene changed, and Boyd wasn't in the least bit surprised when he saw Spencer, the DI sat in a pub downing what looked like his third pint, his expression one of barely suppressed fury. But halfway through his drink, Spencer screwed his eyes up and swore under his breath. Leaving some money on the bar, he stood and left, shivering and swearing again when the cold outside air hit him. Boyd watched as the DI pulled out his phone.

"Me?" he asked Eve.

"Of course," the pathologist replied.

But again, as with the others, there was no answer and Spencer looked less than impressed. "You're a bastard, Boyd, and you don't deserve any of us," he snarled, walking off down the street.

"What about you?" Boyd asked her curiously when it became apparent the pathologist wasn't going to show him anything else.

Eve smiled mysteriously. "I'm here with you, of course."

"Why?"

"Because true friends stand their ground," she replied honestly. "And that's what I'm doing. But you've got to do the same. Start being a good friend, Boyd, or you really will end up alone."

Boyd stared at her. "How?"

Eve smiled. "Think about it, you'll get there."

He closed his eyes briefly, knowing it was time for her to go, knowing he didn't want to watch her fade away, not for a second time. But he wasn't prepared for fingers ghosting over his forearm, strength seeping from the gentle touch into him, and with a smile, he knew what he had to do. Make a start. And he knew just how to do it.

TBC


	5. The Epilogue

Chapter 1: The Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

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"GRACE!"

Grace winced and took a calming deep breath. Two days before Christmas and all she wanted to do was leave work early, finish up her shopping and then go home to relax for a few days. No such luck. The Commissioner had thrown a case at them the week before, citing a quick result was of paramount importance.

*'When wasn't it?'* Grace thought grimly as she pushed herself to her feet to answer Boyd's summons. The man himself had been even more insufferable than normal, pushing everyone longer and harder than ever, and they still weren't making headway with the case, which, of course, made him worse.

*"GRACE!"*

"I'm right here, Boyd!" she replied irritably, her voice climbing a couple of octaves with frustration. "There's no need to deafen me."

"I did wonder if you had heard me," he said scathingly. "How long does it take to get from your office to mine?"

"Did you want something?" Grace asked, refusing to be drawn into an argument.

"The profile on Bellamy..."

"The answer is the same as it was half an hour, Boyd," Grace told him in exasperation. "I'm working on it."

"How long can it take, Grace?" Boyd asked impatiently. "You've got all your notes there, meetings with the man himself, all the information from the original case. What more do you want?"

Grace glared at him. "A little peace and quiet so I can finish my evaluation!"

"If you can't work under pressure, Grace, maybe should should get out of the kitchen!" Boyd yelled, turning on his heel. "Stella! Have you traced the car Bellamy said was stolen from him?"

Stella looked petrified. "Not yet, sir."

Boyd stared at her incredulously. "You've had three days!" he said, emphasising each word carefully. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing, sir," she replied.

"Then get it sorted!"

Eve came through the double doors with her head down, reading from a sheet of paper, oblivious to the growing tension in the room. "Spence, what do you think about...?"

"Is it something to do with the case?" Boyd asked icily.

Eve looked up, surprised. "No, I..."

"If it has no relevance to the case in hand, Dr Lockhart, I don't want to hear it."

"Boyd, it was only a quick question about a present," Eve protested.

"Maybe if you put as much effort into working as you did into thinking up Christmas presents, we would be further on with this case!" Boyd said, the volume of his voice slowly climbing.

Everyone froze with shock, but Spencer was the first to recover, launching to his feet, an angry expression etched onto his face. "Now wait a minute, Boyd..."

"Have you chased up those witnesses I asked you to?" Boyd countered before the DI could finish what he was saying.

"Sir, it's Christmas time!" Spencer said in disbelief.

"I don't care if the Queen just died, we need some answers! Come on, people, show me you deserve to get paid!"

"That's enough, Boyd," Grace said suddenly. "We're working as hard as we can."

Boyd looked at her disbelievingly. "Really. So why are we no further on than we were last week? I thought you were all supposed to be good."

"And what have you been doing, Boyd?" Eve asked, anger colouring her voice. "Other than sitting on your arse in your office, lording it over the rest of us."

"It's my job to review the facts, delegate jobs, and deal with the paperwork," he replied coldly, his eyes boring into the pathologist's. "And I don't have to answer to you."

"I think you do, sir," Spencer said, his voice strained by fury. "You should answer to all of us, just like we have to answer to you."

Boyd stretched up to his full height, using the extra inch difference between himself and Spencer to tower over the DI, in height as well as sheer presence. "If you're ever in charge of a unit, *Detective Inspector* Jordan, you will understand that I only answer to those higher in the chain of command."

"What about your equals?" Grace asked challengingly.

"I have no equal."

"Why don't we just concentrate on the case?" Stella suggested in the hopes to diffuse the situation.

Boyd rounded on her. "Why did you stop in the first place?"

"Because you're all arguing and it's difficult to concentrate with so much noise!" she shouted back. "Sir."

"This is a mere discussion," Boyd told her.

"No, it's an argument," Spencer insisted. "It's an argument because you're flogging us into working two days before Christmas! It's not right, we need a break, sir."

"You need a break?" Boyd asked.

Eve nodded firmly before Spencer could reply. "Yes, Boyd, we do."

"You can have a break when this case is completed. And don't think you'll be taking Christmas Day off either!" he roared.

Grace's expression became pained. "Boyd, please!"

"No, Grace. I'm in charge here, that means you all do as *I* say, not what you please. And I say I want to see double the effort from all of you and answers before the new year or none of you are going to leave this office until we get a lead!"

"Then maybe you should go, *sir*, and leave us all to do our job," Spencer suggested coldly.

Boyd glared at him. "I will decide when I leave."

"I agree with Spence," Eve said.

"I don't care!" Boyd replied.

"Boyd!" Grace shouted, her voice strained by stress. "Just go!"

He stared at her for a long moment, reading the expression on her face and the pain in her eyes without actually seeing it all, before looking at the other members of the team. "Fine," he said eventually, his voice flat and emotionless. Without another word, he stormed into his office, grabbed his coat, and strode out of the other door.

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His shoes and coat discarded by the front door, his suit jacket and tie lay where he had thrown them in the hallway, and the man who owned the clothes was sitting on the couch in his dark living room, a bottle of whisky held in one hand, a glass in the other. None of them understood the stress he was under. It was part of their job to produce quick results, yet they were whining like children. Those thoughts and more flitted through Boyd's mind as he drank himself into oblivion. Christmas. What was so great about Christmas? It was a time to spend with family, friends and other loved ones. The team didn't have any of that, all of them alone, so why shouldn't they spend it working? Boyd couldn't see a problem with it at all. Just like he couldn't see how the situation had escalated into that argument, the one that had ended with him being thrown out of his own unit. How could they all gang up on him like that? It just wasn't fair.

Boyd poured himself another drink, raised the glass to his lips, and then looked at it, frowning. It was empty. How the hell had that happened? Was the universe unhappy with him? Was there a hole in his glass? Looking at the empty bottle, Boyd decided there must have been a hole in that instead and he lurched unsteadily to his feet to go in search of another.

An hour later and Boyd lay slumped on the couch, the half empty bottle of whisky held loosely in his grip. He barely heard his house phone rang, never registered his mobile going. All he knew was that there was a pleasant buzz in his head which counteracted the unpleasantness of the room spinning, and the numbness that had spread throughout his entire body. The last thing Boyd remembered was hearing a dull thump, though whether it was his head hitting the arm of the couch, the bottle hitting the floor, or someone knocking on his front door, he didn't know, and he didn't care. All he wanted to do was sleep.

TBC

Chapter 2: The Ghost of Christmas Past

 

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As Boyd felt himself becoming conscious, he prepared himself for the pounding fog that was bound to be occupying his head and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He knew the light would hurt his eyes, he wouldn't be able to stand the smell of himself, and he would wonder why he had taken so much trouble to become inebriated in the first place. But his head felt remarkably clear and tentatively, Boyd opened his eyes. No stabbing pains, no squinting, and no nausea. There was, however, a powerful sense of vertigo when he tried to sit up and he ended up toppling off his couch, his arms wind-milling in a vain attempt to keep his balance.

Boyd grunted as he hit the floor, but soon sat bolt upright. Something was seriously wrong. He had no hangover; by all rights, he should have been at least a little bit worse for wear after a bottle and a half of whisky. He wasn't aching; after a night on his couch, he should have been half-paralysed. And his floor was far too soft to actually be his floor. In fact, looking around at his surroundings properly, Boyd saw he wasn't even in his living room any more. The only thing that looked familiar was his couch. In fact, it was the only thing around.

If he was asked, the only answer Boyd could give as to where he was would be inside a cloud. The floor was soft and white, and he seemed to be stood in a dense milky fog, which was neither cold nor damp.

"I must be dreaming," he muttered to himself.

"No, you're not. Well, not exactly."

Boyd froze, that voice bringing back so many painful memories, so many hidden emotions. "I am dreaming," he said firmly, though his voice wavered treacherously.

"You're not dreaming. It's difficult to explain."

"I don't care. It's not real."

"It is. Boyd, turn around."

He felt a slender hand on his arm, felt the gentle steel tug, and reluctantly he turned. "This cannot be real."

Mel smiled at him. "Your mind makes it real."

"Where is 'here'?" Boyd asked.

"Nowhere." Mel smiled again. "It's difficult to explain," she repeated, "So why don't you just accept it? It'll make things a lot easier for both of us."

"And how is this going to be difficult for you?" Boyd inquired scathingly.

Mel regarded him silently for a moment, then gestured to thin air on her right. Slowly, the fog shifted and moved, and soon Boyd saw himself and Mel there, like a miniature reflection. The last couple of minutes replayed themselves and he saw how he had sounded, and how his tone affected Mel.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, and it sounded lame, even to his own ears.

"Of course you did," Mel replied promptly. "It's the way you are, Boyd. You're unhappy so you lash out at everyone else."

"That's not true!"

"Yes, it is. You didn't want to be alone at Christmas so you made the rest of the team work." She shook her head. "You know you'd have gotten a better response if you had just asked them. They would have said yes, you know."

Boyd didn't look convinced. "And how do you know that?"

"They care about you, despite the fact you're a grouchy bastard most of the time."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know." Mel sighed. "You don't understand, do you? Or is it that you don't want to understand?"

"Tell me what it is I'm supposed to be understanding and I'll tell you whether I do or not," Boyd replied. "Or don't want to, as the case may be."

Mel shook her head again, but a small smile played on her lips. "Your actions affect everyone around you, Boyd. You make the office an almost impossible environment to live in."

"Spare me the lecture," he interrupted. "I've heard all this from Grace before."

"Yes, but you didn't listen." She gestured again to thin air. "Watch, Boyd. Watch and listen properly."

Rolling his eyes, Boyd turned his head to look at the milky fog. At first, nothing happened, but then shapes emerged, growing into people, and he saw it was the team, starting from the first case that made their name in the police world. He didn't see anything wrong with his behaviour, only registered pride at the way his team worked so well, but then he noticed him and Grace arguing...no, *disagreeing* over something, saw the way she flinched when he raised his voice. The picture suddenly zoomed in on Grace's face and Boyd could see the pain clearly in her eyes. He frowned, wondering how he could have hurt her so much.

"Let's watch it again," Mel said, obviously knowing what he was thinking.

This time, even Boyd winced at his own tone, and he looked carefully at his younger self. There was frustration there, but still a modicum of understanding. Looking at the scene again, he realised that he was like a child, shouting the loudest so he could win, and that understanding made him feel ashamed of the way he was.

"It gets worse," Mel told him.

Boyd sighed. "Somehow I thought it might."

For an indefinite amount of time, Boyd watched different scenes from the past six years play out in front of him. Sometimes it was only a small incident, other times a huge argument, between himself and various members of the team overs the years. He saw Felix leaving because of his apparent coldness, he saw how frightened Stella seemed to be of him, he saw how Spencer's anger mirrored his own, and it saddened him. But the worse one affected was Grace. Boyd saw every emotion play over her face, saw how she grew proficient at hiding her feelings as the years rolled by. He saw how he constantly pushed her away, more than anyone.

"Why?" he murmured to himself.

"Why do you push her away or why does she stay?" Mel asked quietly. "Not that it matters."

"And why is that?"

"The answer is the same."

"Don't tell me, we both care," Boyd said, his voice laced with sarcasm, but even as he spoke, he realised how pathetic his words sounded, even to his own ears. He knew what he had just said was true, even though he wished it wasn't, even had himself convinced it wasn't.

"You can't punish yourself forever, Boyd," Mel told him quietly. "Whatever you think you've done to deserve such treatment from yourself, whatever...wrongs you think you've committed, you shouldn't take it out on everyone else. Don't make everyone else around you miserable just because you can't stand your own company."

He swallowed several times, wanting to retort angrily, to shout and gesture, but he couldn't. "Is there anything else?" he asked eventually, the words ground out from between clenched teeth.

Wordlessly, Mel looked at the floating scene and with a heavy heart, Boyd followed her gaze, wondering just what he would see. When the lab appeared, with Frankie occupying it, somehow he wasn't surprised. Somehow, he knew exactly what was about to follow.

Frankie walked around woodenly, and Boyd knew it had nothing to do with Mel's little trick. The pathologist was acting that way because one of her best friends had just died; the woman who was now stood beside Boyd. Frankie did a little something here, then a little something there, but her heart wasn't in anything, that much was clear in her expression. Then suddenly, without warning, she sunk to the floor, her face in her hands, tears running down her palms and her arms. Boyd made an involuntary, unconscious gesture as he reached for her, wanting to comfort her. But he knew he couldn't and he let his arm drop to his side.

Then again, suddenly, without warning, Frankie stood, picked something off the table and hurled it at the wall. "Bastard!" she shouted, trembling with anger, and Boyd winced, knowing he was the one being cursed. "She says that you care, but you don't! I get told I should give you another chance, time and again, and like a fool, I do. Why? We're all making the effort, Boyd, and what are you doing? Pissing us all off for the fun of it! Is that how you get your kicks?" She shook her head, the shaking subsiding somewhat. "Well not any more. Not from me, not with me." Frankie took a long look around the lab, and as she turned, Boyd could see her expression clearly, her eyes flooded with pain. "I'm out of here."

Boyd sank slowly to his knees, tears streaming down his face. Lifting a shaking hand, he wiped them away roughly. "What have you done to me?" he asked Mel.

"I haven't made you come undone, if that's what you're suggesting," she replied. "You have these emotions within you, Boyd, but you allow your anger and frustration to rule, which suppresses your softer side. And you do have one, everyone does, to a greater or lesser degree. Yours is lesser, but it's balanced by Grace. You know it's true. It's not a bad thing, just the way you are. But you've got to let go of the anger and the frustration. I'm not saying become a completely different person, just a...better one."

"What have you done to me?" he asked, softer this time.

"Separated you from your anger, so you can see properly."

Boyd stared at the scene before him, watching Frankie walk out of the unit for good, and pain lanced his chest. Slowly, he looked at Mel. "Can you forgive me, Mel? For the way I treated you at times, for not being there when you needed me...for everything. Can you forgive me?"

There was a long silence, which Boyd found deafening and he wanted to demand an answer, but he endured the wait, though it felt as though it was killing him. Finally, Mel sighed softly and bent her head.

"No," she whispered.

"You can't or you won't?" Boyd asked, no trace of anger in his voice, which surprised him.

Mel knelt beside him and put her hand gently against his bearded cheek. "I'm a ghost, Boyd, I can't forgive you. The only ones who can, and who might, are the ones who are still here, the ones you've been pushing away."

"But if you were alive," he said as she stood and turned, "If you were able to, would you forgive me?"

His answer was silence.

TBC

Chapter 3: The Ghost Of Christmas Future

 

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For a while, Boyd stared at the empty space Mel had occupied not moments before, his heart heavy with sorrow. He wanted to shout out to her, to anyone, but his voice had abandoned him. Hanging his head, Boyd turned. A sudden wave of dizziness hit him and he fell backwards, glad his couch was in the bizarre environment to break his fall. Screwing his eyes shut, he took several deep lungfuls of air and waited for the room to stop spinning. This was something he was more familiar, and comfortable, with: the beginnings of his hangover. And when things finally settled down and he opened his eyes, Boyd saw he was back in his own living room, which confirmed to him that things were back to normal. Lifting his fingers slowly to his face, Boyd was only slightly surprised to find his cheeks were wet. As dreams go, the one he had just endured must have been quite strong to make him cry in his sleep.

"You weren't asleep."

Swearing, Boyd jumped to his feet and spun round, the motion making him lose his balance and fall back onto the couch. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded to know.

Stella just regarded him quite calmly. "Helping you."

"I don't need help. Get out!"

"Didn't you listen to anything Mel just told you?" Stella asked. "This isn't a dream. Well, not exactly."

Boyd stared at her, his expression something akin to horror. "It *was* a dream. I'm home now."

"Are you?"

Looking around slowly, Boyd tried to find something amiss with his living room, but couldn't. Well, apart from the fact that the curtains were open and the sun was blazing high in the sky...the moon right next to it, and a few stars clear for everyone to see. Groaning, Boyd buried his head in his hands.

"Why me?" he muttered.

"Because we think you're worth saving."

He looked up curiously. "We?"

Stella ignored him. "You can sit there and ignore me as long as you like. Time has no meaning here and I have all the patience in the world."

"Do you?" Boyd asked, amused. "Because the Stella I know doesn't."

Stella smiled back at him. "Alright, I don't, but I thought if I could convince you I did, you might give in easier."

"There was logic in there somewhere, but don't ask me where." He held his hands up. "Alright, I give in. Let's get this over with, shall we?"

"Winning that wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be," she grumbled. "Do you know why I'm here?"

"Stella, I don't even know why *I'm* here," Boyd replied.

"Mel showed you the past, I'm going to show you the future."

"It hasn't been written yet."

"Some things are certain, Boyd," Stella told him seriously. "Those are the things I will show you."

He sighed. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Probably not."

His living room window started to blur and swirl, and before long, the entire wall has disintegrated, showing an unknown scene. Boyd and Grace were sat in his office, discussing a necklace that was somehow connected with Mel. Before he could register what was happened, the two people in the scene started arguing, their words becoming more heated and barbed with each passing second and he before he knew it, Grace stood and left.

"Where is she going?" Boyd asked, shocked, staring at himself in the image as though he was looking at a stranger.

"She's leaving," Stella replied sadly.

Boyd turned to look at her. "But she'll be back." Silence. "Won't she?"

Stella hesitated. "Yes, but not until the end of the case, and Grace only returns because she cares about helping people."

"How long is she gone for?" Boyd asked, and his tone indicated the question was important to him.

But Stella didn't answer him. "It doesn't matter. This is what matters." She gestured and the scene changed through several images: Boyd in Grace's office; Boyd picking the phone up and not making the care; Boyd looking lost. "You need her, more than you realise."

He stared at his forlorn self. "I do realise it. I know it. It's just...I don't know. It's just me."

"You can't be 'just you' any more, Boyd," Stella said, gesturing again.

Joe's haggard face appeared and Boyd gave a strangled cry. He was forced to watch as his son injected himself with drugs, pushing him closer and closer to the edge until finally, he took too much. He watched as Joe's head lolled lifelessly to one side, the mobile slipping from his dead fingers.

"No!" Boyd cried, reaching out to his son.

"You can't help him."

"You said this was the future, that the things you were showing me couldn't be changed," Boyd said, hurt and anger colouring his voice.

"There's more," Stella replied softly.

She showed him three successive scenes: Spencer leaving the team, taking a transfer as soon as one came up; herself dying, which Boyd found particularly difficult to watch; and then Grace suffering with cancer. Boyd's heart leapt to his throat when he saw his friend lying in a hospital bed and he wondered how things could get any worse. When he saw some unknown woman holding a needle to Grace's arm, telling the Boyd in the scene to kill someone or Grace would die, Boyd realised he hadn't known what 'worse' meant until then.

"No more," he gasped, staggering backwards until he felt his couch behind him and he sank onto it gratefully.

"You have to understand something, Boyd," Stella said, sitting beside him. "These things are certain, but only if you continue the way you are now. You can stop all these things from happening if you change."

"I can't stop Grace getting cancer," he replied.

"No, but you can stop her from possibly dying at the hands of a madwoman," Stella told him. "You can support her through her illness, ensuring that she *will* get better. You can stop Spencer leaving, even stop me from dying."

"And Joe?" The question was spoken quietly, as though he didn't really want to voice it.

Stella was silent for a long time. "That is the one thing that cannot be changed. I'm sorry. Even if you had been the best dad in the world, Joe would still have ended up the same way. That's his path, his destiny, if you want to call it something. He's had his last chance to turn away, to change, but he passed it up."

"Why?" he asked after a while. "Why should I change?"

"Because of this." Stella gestured again at the space where the wall had been.

Boyd couldn't help but smile as he looked at the image before him. Every person who had been a member of the cold case squad in the last six years were gathered around him, with Grace and Spencer flanking him, the scene looking more like a promotional picture for a TV show than anything else. Either that or a rogues' gallery. Boyd couldn't decide.

But then Mel disappeared. He was expecting that, but it still pained him. Frankie vanished soon after, and then Andy and Felix. Stella disappeared quickly, as did Spencer, and soon, there was only Boyd and Grace left.

"Don't go," he whispered, reaching for her. "Don't let her go." This was directed to his mirror image starting sightlessly back at him.

But it happened. Slowly, ever so slowly, Grace began to fade, until she was nothing more than a memory, and Boyd was alone.

"You may have been alone for a long time," Stella said, "But you don't need to carry on being alone. All these people, they care about you. It's time to change, Boyd."

"I don't know how," he replied, turning to face her, only to find she had vanished as well.

"If you want it badly enough," her disembodied voice replied, "You'll find a way. No one else can do it for you, no one else can help any more than they already are doing."

"And how are they helping?" Body couldn't help but ask.

"By loving you," she told him. "Just don't wait too long to start to change."

Boyd looked up, expecting to see himself staring back, but instead there was nothing. He was truly alone.

TBC

Chapter 4: The Ghost of Christmas Present

 

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This time when the wave of nausea hit him, Boyd knew what to expect. By know he knew what was going on, at least at that very moment, while he was sleeping or unconscious. As for the bigger picture, he was still clueless, though he hoped when he awoke properly he wouldn't be quite as blind. But knowing exactly what he was like, he didn't hope too hard. Closing his eyes, Boyd waited for the world to stop spinning and the sickness to pass, idly wondering who would be his last 'ghost', the one to show him the present, which would inevitably be the argument he had orchestrated and endured with the team earlier the day before. Mel had been his past, Stella his future, but who for his present? A slight smile touched his face. Grace. It could only be her, the only he would, if he were honest with himself, trust such a task to.

Some sixth sense he didn't even know he possessed told Boyd he wasn't in his own home any more, nor had he returned to lollipop land. He was, in fact, if his instincts were serving him rightly, in the offices, or more specifically, *his* office.

"I thought you'd feel more comfortable here."

Boyd's eyes flew open, fixing on the person next to him. He stared for a moment, then grunted. "Somehow I'm not surprised."

"But I'm not who you were expecting," Eve replied.

He smiled at her. "You know you're not."

"Indeed I do." She smiled back.

"So, why here?"

"What do you mean?"

"First time was in the clouds, second in my home...."

Eve held her hands up. "I don't want to know, Boyd!"

"What are you talking about? I was talking about...." He trailed off and his eyes narrowed. "I was *not* talking about sex!" he exclaimed indignantly.

"Please, don't use such language in front of us children," Eve replied.

"Wha-?" Boyd stopped abruptly when he saw her eyes sparkling mischievously. "Daddy will spank your arse if you carry on."

Eve threw her head back and laughed loudly. "Now why can't you be like that all the time, Boyd?" she asked him.

"It's not possible."

"Grace seems to manage it. Most of the time," she added quickly.

"People except me to be a hard case, they expect me to be short-tempered and cranky."

In the silence that followed, Boyd wondered what on earth had made him say that. It was the truth, certainly, but one of those truths that was never meant to be shared. Luckily Eve seemed to sense his unease and turned away.

"We're here, at work, specifically in your office, because that's where your mind is fixed," she explained. "Your almost every thought centres on work, on being here and working, which is fine, but you need to think about the team as well. They're an integral, irreplaceable part of this place. Yes, new members will replace old ones, but the team as a whole...it's a unit that needs to be preserved, Boyd."

"Is this where you give me a speech about my role in the team?" he asked, surprised there was no sarcasm or anger in his voice, only a simple question. "About how I'm the father and need to look after everyone?"

"No, because you already know it. You just need to practice it a bit more."

"It's not that easy."

"Because you make it difficult," Eve replied promptly. "Look, I'll show you."

"Do you have to?" Boyd grumbled, his tone that of a petulant child.

Eve ignored him, stood, and gestured to the wall that had been behind them. Boyd noted, incidentally, that Grace's office looked odd in the dark, and he remembered what Stella had showed him in the future, where Grace left. He knew she came back, but it was the actual leaving that was causing him trouble.

"Watch," the pathologist instructed him.

Sighing, Boyd did as he was told, already knowing he wouldn't like what he saw. He saw the beginning of the day before, the phone ringing before he had even made it into his office. It was the Commissioner, demanding an update, despite them only having been at the case for a week. Boyd told him they were expecting a lead from forensics later that day, and that Grace would also have a profile for them to work with by the afternoon. The Commissioner told Boyd to make it sooner. Irritated by the phone call, Boyd started to rile the members of the team as soon as they walked through the door, shouting orders louder than necessary, with more force than was necessary.

As Boyd watched himself being so hard on the team, he winced. He had acted stupidly, thoughtlessly, all because the Commissioner was pushing him. If he couldn't handle the pressure, he shouldn't be in charge. That thought shocked him, and he wondered where it had come from.

"It wasn't me," Eve said, holding her hands up. "It came from within you. I had nothing to do with that little revelation."

Boyd rolled his eyes. "Thanks," he murmured and went back to watching the scene.

The morning of the previous day progressed through snippets and moments, and he knew they were building up to the argument that made him leave. As he watched, though, he realised he wasn't the only one at fault. The behaviour of the team didn't help much, as they seemed to act up more just to annoy him. Spencer became more and more frustrated and angry with Boyd for pushing them so hard, Stella pretended to work hard but wasn't actually doing, and Eve wasn't pretending to work at all. In fact, only Grace seemed to be concentrating.

"We're not perfect," Eve agreed, and Boyd thought he detected a hint of an apology in her voice. "But you have to lead by example."

Boyd sighed. "I know."

Then in the afternoon came the second phone call from the Commissioner, this one making the earlier one pleasant by comparison. The Boyd in the image clenched his fist so hard during the conversation that he left deep nail imprints on the palm of his hand. The basic of the message was that they had to have a lead in the next two days or they would all find themselves unemployed. Boyd actually pointed out it was Christmas, but the Commissioner wasn't having any of it. Of course, Boyd didn't fight the case too hard; at least if he was working he wouldn't be alone. As soon as the call ended, he didn't even wait to calm down, he just shouted for Grace so that he could unburden his anger on someone else.

Boyd saw himself doing all of this and now understood what he was doing. He couldn't cope with stress, or with anger. He needed to pass it all onto someone else, or vent it in some way, and that was usually yelling at the team. Unfortunately, it seemed they had all had enough of him. As he watched, he could see that he was justified in his accusations, but not in the manner they were delivered. Grace had indeed had more than enough time to finish the profile on Bellamy, she just hadn't done so because he had done nothing but shout at them every five minutes for the entire morning. Stella hadn't traced the car because Spencer hadn't been helping her; he had been busy building the chip on his shoulder. Same with the witnesses he was supposed to be chasing; he was too busy being indignant at Boyd to actually work. And Eve couldn't get very far until they had traced the stolen car, but Boyd noticed at there was work to be done.

He turned to Eve next to him and frowned. "Am I seeing this as it really is, from an outsider's point of view, or just as I want to see things?"

She smiled at him mysteriously. "I think we're making progress, and I definitely think there's hope for you. Watch it again."

This time he saw the first phone call with the Commissioner, going exactly as it had before, but Boyd noticed something before that in himself. He was already cranky; pissed off, in fact. And he knew why. He had heard talk between the rest of the team about Christmas, what they were doing and the presents they were buying, but no one had talked to him about it. He had been completely excluded from the discussions and it irked him. Then the call from the Commissioner came and his bad mood worsened. They couldn't get any further with the case without any new leads, and they weren't finding many of those. The car that was supposed to be stolen still hadn't been found, despite Stella searching for three days. The witnesses that Spencer was supposed to be finding were equally elusive, and it wasn't for lack of trying on the DI's part, Boyd could see that now. Eve had next to nothing to go on, except a single fingerprint that wasn't Bellamy's and didn't match any on the database. And Grace, despite having the information from the original case and her own notes to consult, as well as the knowledge gleaned from meeting Bellamy, still couldn't put together a cohesive profile because nothing fit. It was like he was three different people, and Boyd could now see that it was driving the profiler crazy.

Then Boyd saw himself, angry at the time of year, pissed off at the Commissioner, taking his frustrations out on everyone else because he simply didn't know how to cope. He should have fought harder for time off over Christmas, citing the team would work better after even just one day of rest. He should have stuck up for his team instead of shouting at them. He didn't let them stop for lunch, instead allowing a ten minute run to the vending machine. Then came the Commissioner's second phone call, which was actually apologetic, and he told Boyd to slow down and take a few days off over Christmas. Boyd said it wouldn't be necessary, that the team were keen to crack the case. It was a lie, he knew, but at least he wouldn't be alone. Of course, it hadn't worked out that way. As he watched the argument unfold, Boyd wanted to reach into the scene and punch himself, especially when he told them they had to work on Christmas Day. He could see it in their faces, their expressions clear; they had never hated him more than they did in that moment, all of them, even Grace, and that knowledge pained him greatly.

And then, in the scene, he left, because they didn't want him there. He was thrown out of his own unit by the other members of the team, and as he watched, Boyd was surprised how easily he gave in to them.

"You wanted to see how much they cared," Eve answered. "You went home and got drunk to see if anyone cared enough to follow you or call."

"And did they?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Let's take a look."

The scene changed again and Boyd was surprised to find himself looking at Grace, sat on the couch in her house. There was no TV on, no music, just the profiler staring into space, a glass of wine in hand. She looked older in the pale light, her wrinkles clearer because of the shadows, but what surprised him the most were her eyes. Normally sparkling blue, they were dull, almost lifeless. Beside her on the couch, Boyd saw the case file, saw she had been working on it, presumably since she got home. Suddenly, she moved, her hand diving into her bag and pulling out her mobile.

"Damn you, Boyd," Grace muttered, and he saw she was ringing his number.

"I'm not going to answer," he said, knowing she couldn't hear him.

When Grace realised the same thing, she threw her phone across the room at the arm chair and swore. "Damn you, Boyd," she repeated, louder this time.

The scene changed again without warning, and Boyd saw Stella all wrapped up, walking down a street furiously. "I know that street," he said in surprise.

"You should, you live on it," Eve replied dryly.

Sure enough, Stella walked up to Boyd's front door, raised her hand to knock, then changed her mind and walked away. Then walked back. Then walked away again. Amused, Boyd watched her do this for about ten minutes before she finally took a deep breath.

"You can do this, just see if he's alright," the DC muttered to herself. "What's the worst he can do? Fire you? Exactly." She turned and marched up the path and knocked on the door before she could change her mind again. But there was no answer. She knocked twice more, then realising she wasn't getting anyway, walked slowly away, shoulders slumped in...disappointment? Boyd wasn't sure.

A third time the scene changed, and Boyd wasn't in the least bit surprised when he saw Spencer, the DI sat in a pub downing what looked like his third pint, his expression one of barely suppressed fury. But halfway through his drink, Spencer screwed his eyes up and swore under his breath. Leaving some money on the bar, he stood and left, shivering and swearing again when the cold outside air hit him. Boyd watched as the DI pulled out his phone.

"Me?" he asked Eve.

"Of course," the pathologist replied.

But again, as with the others, there was no answer and Spencer looked less than impressed. "You're a bastard, Boyd, and you don't deserve any of us," he snarled, walking off down the street.

"What about you?" Boyd asked her curiously when it became apparent the pathologist wasn't going to show him anything else.

Eve smiled mysteriously. "I'm here with you, of course."

"Why?"

"Because true friends stand their ground," she replied honestly. "And that's what I'm doing. But you've got to do the same. Start being a good friend, Boyd, or you really will end up alone."

Boyd stared at her. "How?"

Eve smiled. "Think about it, you'll get there."

He closed his eyes briefly, knowing it was time for her to go, knowing he didn't want to watch her fade away, not for a second time. But he wasn't prepared for fingers ghosting over his forearm, strength seeping from the gentle touch into him, and with a smile, he knew what he had to do. Make a start. And he knew just how to do it.

TBC

Chapter 5: The Epilogue

 

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Boyd began to stir as his mind dragged him from unconsciousness, his thoughts blissfully clear, for the moment. As he opened his eyes, he saw what he expected to; an empty bottle on the floor, a large whisky stain underneath it, and himself half fallen off his couch, where, presumably, he had collapsed last night. What he wasn't quite prepared for was the lack of a hangover, although the more he thought on that, the more he realised he shouldn't have been surprised at all. He sat up and dragged a hand over his face, frowning at the stubble covering his cheeks, and when he breathed in he almost threw up at the smell.

Shaking his head, Boyd asked himself, "Why do you do it?" And with that question, the memories of his dreams – if they were indeed dreams – came flooding back to him, and with them came his answer. It was painful, but he clung to the memories and promised himself it wouldn't happen again. Not that he would never drink again, but he would never drink himself into unconsciousness again.

Holding onto Eve's parting words, Boyd first cleaned up the spilt alcohol and then went for a much needed shave and shower. He idly considered burning his clothes, but decided that was probably a little extreme and decided to put them on a boil wash instead. A normal wash would have sufficed, he knew that, but for him it was bordering on being symbolic. Once dressed again, he brewed some strong coffee, set about making breakfast and then, while it was cooling, found his mobile, ignoring the two missed calls. Taking deep breath, he called the first person.

*"Morning, Boyd,"* Grace replied coolly.

"Don't bother going into work today," Boyd replied without preamble. "Or tomorrow for that matter."

*"I see."* Now Grace sounded worried. *"Is there a problem?"*

"No. I have to go." And he put the phone down. He knew the call would irritate and possibly upset her but it was necessary. Quickly he phoned Spencer, Stella and Eve and told them the same thing. The two officers were shocked, that he expected, and even a little bit angry at being given no explanation. That Boyd expected too. What he didn't expect, though, was Eve's nonchalant reply of 'Okay'. No indignant retort, no surprised silence; it was almost like she...knew he was going to call and what he was going to say. Boyd shook his head firmly. That was a line of thought he really *didn't* want to go down.

Once breakfasted, he pulled on his coat and scarf and took a very deep breath. He was about to embark on one of the most difficult things he had ever done: Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve. What he had to do afterwards would pale in comparison to that mammoth task.

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As Boyd opened his front door – no easy feat considering the bags he was carrying – he threw said bags into the hallway, followed them into the house and then rested his forehead on the now closed door. It had been a nightmare. He knew it would be, he just hadn't realised it was going to be *that* much of a nightmare. Several times he had come close to losing his temper, and one particularly narrow incident involving a mother, a toddler and a shopping trolley, but somehow he managed to control himself. It wasn't easy, and as Boyd soaked up the welcome silence of his house, he debated whether it was too early to have a stiff drink. But then he shook his head. He still had a lot of work to do. As he carried the four small bags – Boyd found multi-tasking extremely difficult – into the living room, he reflected on the day. He had managed to control his anger, instead of letting it control him, for one full day. That in itself was nothing short of a miracle. He hadn't even resorted to quoting The Tempest under his breath, he had just...done it.

Now all he had to do was wrap the presents. Deep joy and happiness.

Making himself some strong coffee, Boyd collected everything he needed in his kitchen and proceeded to try and wrap the four presents for his colleagues. There was a great deal of swearing involved and more than once, the reel of sellotape was hurled across the room in a fit of fury. When he had finished, a three year old's attempt at wrapping would have looked far better, but he hoped that, in the spirit of Christmas, it was the thought that counted. That, and the huge, for him, apology that would be tacked on the end of the present, figuratively speaking of course.

As Boyd tidied up, he looked out of his window and noticed it was snowing. "Just bloody perfect," he muttered to himself. Then he looked at the time. If he wanted to get everything finished tonight as he had planned, he had to leave now, despite being hungry. Grumbling some more, Boyd grabbed the bag of presents and headed out of his house.

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The first step was, Boyd deemed, the easiest, though explaining to Stella why he was cranky would not be easy, nor was he sure she actually deserved an explanation. He still hadn't forgotten how she had betrayed the team, an act which resulted in Spencer's almost death, but she had worked so hard to move past the incident that Boyd felt he should do the same. As he reached her front door, he took a deep breath, remembering he couldn't reveal the future he had seen to any of the them. Ghost-Stella had told him that it was possible to change everything except the death of his son; Boyd only hoped it was true. Steeling himself not only for the apology he would have to give, but for seeing his DC in the flesh after watching her die in his dreams, Body knocked on the door.

"Sir!" Stella exclaimed when she saw him, her eyes widening dramatically.

Boyd paused a moment, taking in her casual attire and relaxed expression, and he wondered briefly if she had company. The thought made him extremely jealous for some insane reason, and he shook his head to bring himself back to the present.

"I know I'm probably disturbing you, but this won't take long," he replied.

"No, sir, I'm...," Stella started to say, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, but Boyd silenced her with a raised hand.

"I have other things to do anyway. I just wanted to give you this." He thrust the gift forwards and glanced away, the silence awkward.

Stella hesitated for a short time and then took the present. "Thank you, sir," she said quietly, eyes fixed on the gift in her hands. "But I didn't get you anything."

"I don't want anything. This is to say...." He ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm a bastard at times, I know that, and I know it makes a difficult working environment and all that shit." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm hard on you because of what happened before, but also because...we're alike. And...in the future...if I stop you from doing something, you might think it's unfair, but you just have to trust me that what I do, I do for the good of the team. Now, anyway."

Stella simply stared at him.

"I'm not expecting a reply, so I'll just say enjoy your evening and I'll see you back at work in a couple of days." With that, Boyd turned and walked back to his car. Next stop, Spencer. Most definitely not one of the easiest things he would ever do.

"What?" was the DI's ungracious question when he answered the door.

Immediately Boyd felt his hackles rising but he controlled himself with a great effort. "I know what you think of me, Spence, and I know you've been thinking about leaving if the opportunity arises."

"Wha-?"

"Alright, you will leave if the opportunity presents itself, and I'll have driven you from the team. I don't want you to go, but I can't make you stay." He handed Spencer a present. "I'm proud to have you as my DI." This time Boyd didn't even wait to see if there was going to be a reply, he just left quickly.

But instead of going to his next stop, he drove around for a while, dispelling the anger he had felt building in him. He knew Spencer was testing all the time, pushing the boundaries, but sometimes, just sometimes, Boyd wished he wouldn't. Finally, he headed to Eve's place.

"Hi, Boyd," she greeted him with a smile.

"I know I'm probably disturbing you...."

"Not really, but I'm guessing you don't want to come inside and have a drink," Eve replied.

"No, not really," he admitted, surprised at how easy he could talk to her, like he had with Ghost-Eve.

"So, what can I do for you?" she asked.

Something about her tone unsettled him, but Boyd ignored him. "I wanted to give you this," he said, handing her a gift. "And to...apologise for being so difficult. It's not easy being alone at Christmas."

"No, it isn't," Eve agreed.

"I should go."

"See you later."

As Boyd turned to leave, he missed the mysterious little smile that played on Eve's lips. It was only when he had almost reached Grace's place that he realised what the tone was in Eve's voice. It was almost as if she had been expecting him, like she knew why he was calling round... Then he shook his head and berated himself firmly for being such a superstitious idiot. Stella or Spencer had probably phoned her, that's how she knew.

When Grace answered the door, she didn't speak, at first. She just regarded him with a closed expression, but her eyes registered both pleasant surprise and barely contained wrath. Finally, she opted for her usual look, one of tiredness and long-suffering.

"Evening, Boyd."

"Hello, Grace." Suddenly he found himself feeling nervous and awkward, and he hated it. Anger welled up in him and the temptation to use Grace as a scapegoat was almost overpowering. But he remembered back to the night before, to the reason he had spent all day shopping, to the reason he was there, stood at her front door.

"Boyd?"

Grace's voice brought him back to the present and he looked up to see her gazing at him in concern, her brow furrowed. "Sorry. Actually, that's what I wanted to say." Boyd decided the best thing now was to simply blurt it all out, get it over and done with. "I'm sorry I'm a bastard, but please don't leave. The team needs you. *I* need you." He handed her her present. "I was wrong, I do have an equal. Not in the workplace because I have to be the boss, but you are all equal to me, or probably better." He smiled. "Merry Christmas, Grace."

Grace could only stare in shock as she watched his car speed off. Of all the things she had been expecting, that was certainly not it. Thoughtfully, she closed her door and went back inside, the gift held tightly in her hand.

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Boyd was grateful to be back in the sanctuary of his house, the day he had just endured quite possibly the hardest in his memory, though for different reasons that other difficult days he'd had. He checked his mobile and then his house phone, half expecting at least one missed call, but there was nothing. Slowly he made himself some dinner, running over the brief meetings with his colleagues. All had been surprised by his appearance, except Eve, and quite possibly pleased that he had shown up. Then Boyd shook his head. He was doing it again, making things how he wanted them to be. None of them had acted pleased, except perhaps Stella a little bit, and Eve...well, in this Boyd felt she simply didn't count. No, if their reactions were anything to go by, it was going to take a lot more than a few hastily, albeit sincerely, spoken words and a small gift.

He washed up, tidied his kitchen, then retreated to his living, collapsing in his armchair, still expecting the phone to ring. It didn't. As Boyd sat staring at a blank TV screen, he could feel himself growing frustrated and angry, with the team and with himself. All that soul searching and truth-telling the night before had done him no good whatsoever. No, he hadn't expected miracles, but at least a little feedback would have been nice. Right now, he'd even take being yelled at and berated over the cold silence. But it seemed the team had other ideas; it seemed he would have to work much harder to rebuild the bridges he had burnt.

Suddenly Boyd couldn't stand the quiet or the loneliness any more and he stood abruptly, marching into the kitchen and straight to the cupboard where he knew he had another bottle of whisky. He snatched a glass from the cupboard next door, set it down roughly on the table and opened the bottle. He didn't care about what had happened last night, didn't care what the drink brought out in him. Didn't care about anything. Until he breathed in. Boyd felt like his stomach was doing back-flips and somersaults while trying to travel up to his throat and he swallowed heavily, trying to keep the contents of his dinner where they were. Lifting the bottle to his nose, Boyd took another cautious smell, instantly confirming it was the whisky that had unsettled his stomach. Grimacing, he realised he couldn't even lie to himself any more; he did care, about everything, even if it was only a little, but it was enough. Without a second thought, he tipped the bottle up and poured the contents straight down the drain, quickly putting the tap on the help was away the smell. Once empty, he set the bottle aside and raided his other cupboards, pulling out four and a half bottles of wine, and a bottle of something that didn't have a label, but Boyd was pretty sure he didn't want to drink it. Once that had all gone, he made himself a cup of tea and then went to see what was on TV. He soon had his answer: not a lot. But it kept him occupied for a couple of hours as he shouted at the screen and rolled his eyes a lot. Finally, as he trudged wearily up to bed with a heavy heart, Boyd wondered if there was any hope left for him at all.

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Boyd awoke late on Christmas Day, which was unusual in itself as he was normally an early riser. But his eyes felt gritty and tired, his brain foggy, as though he had been rudely awakened, and for a moment he lay there, trying to work out what exactly had disturbed him. Finally deciding it was nothing, he closed his eyes, intent on grabbing another hour's sleep at least. After all, what reason did he have to get up?

But when he heard a loud crash downstairs, followed by the hissing noise of low voices, Boyd rolled quickly out of bed and hurriedly pulled some clothes on. Intruders in his house on Christmas Day wasn't exactly what he had planned and his first instinct was to, laughably, call the police. Instead, he took a deep breath and crept down the stairs.

Boyd wasn't sure what he expected to find, but what he actually found certainly wasn't it, or even anywhere close to it. A medium sized Christmas tree had been hastily erected in his living room and four people were just putting the finishing touches to it. The noise had come from a glass ornament that had obviously been knocked off his table, and as Boyd scanned the room, he didn't actually recognise it as his living room. Winter wonderland would have been far more appropriate, and he idly wondered how the team had managed it without him knowing.

The quiet grumbling that had filled the room – Stella and Eve couldn't agree about whether the star or the fairy should go on top of the tree – suddenly stopped as everyone registered Boyd's silent presence in the doorway. From their expressions, they were all steeling themselves for a bollocking on a massive scale, but he simply stood there, impassive, waiting for them to make the first move. One by one, starting with Eve, they all came up and thanked him for their presents. The women kissed him chastely on the cheek while Spencer shook his hand firmly. And for the first time in his life, Boyd was rendered speechless by the whole thing. But there was one question he wanted answering and so he forced his voice to move.

"How did you get in?" he asked, more amused than anything else. "No one has a spare key."

Everyone remained silence, but covertly looked at Spencer, who looked far to innocent to actually be innocent, and Boyd knew getting him a new set of fine lock-picking tools had been a bad idea. Again he found himself speechless and he took a moment to take in the scene properly. Tinsel had been hung from every available place, random Christmas ornaments placed on every available surface, and enough lights to pass as a runway. It was so gaudy and over the top that it was actually starting to grow on him. And then there were the faces of his team...his friends...his family, if he were being honest with himself. Stella looked bashful, Spencer apologetic, and Eve just wore a mysterious smile which really unnerved Boyd. And Grace... Grace's expression was indecipherable.

"Why?" Boyd asked finally.

"Because family should be together at Christmas," Grace replied without hesitation. Then she handed him his first present and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Peter."

"Thank you." Boyd accepted it and smiled back, hoping the tears he knew were in his eyes didn't spill over. "Merry Christmas to you all."

Eve then grinned impishly. "And God bless us, everyone!" she exclaimed loudly.

FIN


End file.
